Time Heals
by Morgalahan
Summary: Lyran Lavellan will stop at nothing to save her love, Solas. She will break the very laws of time and plunge herself into the darkness in search of hope. But she has been warned that those who would attempt to travel in time will only break themselves upon it. Can her sanity survive?
1. Chapter 1

9:45 Dragon

The broken magister sat alone at the top of the shattered tower. It had been over a week since he'd been moved there. She'd come for him and there had been darkness in her eyes.

At first, he'd thought she'd finally come to kill him. He'd wept from relief. At last, it would end. There was nothing more for him. Even the paltry purpose afforded him had been stripped away at the dissolution of the Inquisition.

And then he'd seen something in her, something all too familiar.

She was not the woman he remembered. That woman had been strong, self-confident and full of eager good intent. The woman who'd stood before him was as broken as he was.

She'd told him to pack what he needed, that he'd not be returning once they left. He'd taken the bare essentials. There was nothing he truly needed any longer.

They had travelled through the night, just the two of them. He did not ask where her usual companions were. They'd taken horses which had already been saddled and waiting. They had slipped out of the gate, across the bridge and were gone from Skyhold without anyone the wiser — as far as he could tell.

She'd been silent and he'd not cared enough to provoke conversation.

He'd watched her when they'd camped, watched her awkward fumbling. Seen her expression of frustrated embarrassment. He'd not done anything. This was her battle and he'd known that any offer of help from him would only be met with anger.

On the second day, they'd arrived at the tower. It had been uninhabited and decrepit with age. The chamber at the top had been intact however and roughly furnished.

He had sat on the room's only chair and looked at her.

She was thin and overly pale. Bruised flesh ringed her eyes, which were red with fine veins. Her lips were drawn into a line as she regarded him in turn. They were chapped and bleeding. She'd developed the habit of biting them.

She'd run her remaining hand through her unkempt hair and sighed. Then, she'd withdrawn a bound package from her satchel and handed it to him.

"Open it." She'd commanded.

He'd pulled aside the cloth to reveal a thick stack of parchment. Something smaller rested on top of it, something which made his breath catch.

An amulet.

One which was far, far too familiar to him.

"How did you get this?" His voice had been grating and coarse in his own ears.

"I am… _was_ the Inquisitor. Is it so surprising?" She'd replied.

He'd shaken his head. "I doubt that even you would have been able to take this without someone noticing."

She'd narrowed her eyes at him and then looked away. She'd reached across her own chest and clasped the stump of her left arm.

"I did what I had to do." She'd turned back to him. "And now you are going to do the same."

"Whatever you're trying to do Lavellan, it won't work." He'd said.

She'd taken two quick steps forward and had grasped the collar of his robes. She'd pulled him up from his chair and he'd been surprised at her strength.

"It _must_ work!" She'd said, breath hissing into his face. "There is no other alternative!"

"The Breach has been sealed for years and you have closed all the remaining rifts. I tell you again, this will not work." He'd said.

She'd released him and let him fall back to his chair. There'd been fresh blood on her lip and her eyes had been veiled. "I can open one. It won't be very large or last very long but I have that power, even without the Anchor."

He'd sighed and nodded. "Very well, then there is a chance." He'd looked away as bitter memories flashed across his mind. "But, you must know that even so, there is little chance you will be able to accomplish your goal."

"I will take whatever chance I am afforded." She'd moved back to him and bent down to gather the scattered pages he'd let drop when she'd lifted him.

That done, she'd handed it all back to him.

"This is everything that you and Dorian discovered together, as well as some theory I have extracted from the Well." she'd said.

"From the Well?" He'd looked up at her and had felt the ghost of excitement. "The Well of Sorrows? They developed a theory on this?"

She'd laughed. It had not been a pleasant sound. "Of course. They developed a theory for almost every variety of magic imaginable. They determined, however, that practical application of this particular kind was unfeasible."

"Why?" She'd caught his interest. Something he'd long thought dead had reared up within him.

There had been bitter humour her eyes. "Because, dear Magister, it was determined that whoever used this magic would be driven insane."

* * *

And so, a week later, he sat at the small wooden table which had become his desk. He had worked with little rest or nourishment but he knew it had been worth it. He had something — something that changed the magic he'd spent years working on in ways that astounded him. The knowledge of the ancient elves surpassed him. They'd more than theorised use of time magic, they'd near perfected it. But it had never been practically pursued. After all, what need did immortals have of a magic that allowed them to travel through time?

And the risk involved… it nearly took his breath away, thinking of it. What he'd done, what he could have done to the fabric of reality. It appalled him.

He heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the chamber and turned.

She looked worse than before. She was covered in dust and grime and her flesh looked almost transparent. She'd clearly not been sleeping or eating much.

"We have to go." She said without preamble. "They know where you are. I have to move you before they take you back."

He nodded. He'd been expecting this. "I am finished."

She was surprised but her shock lasted only a moment to be replaced by excitement.

"Then we can use it? Work the spell?"

He nodded and handed her the amulet. "Yes, it is done. I can do what you require of me… but there is something you must do in return."

Anger suffused her features but it quickly faded to resignation. "Yes, anything Alexius. Just do as I ask and I will do whatever you want in return."

"You must save him. You must succeed where I failed!" The force of his emotions propelled him to take her hand, to grip her shoulder. He clutched at her, his last hope of salvation.

"I am not sure that I can…" She began.

"No," he interrupted. "You can. There is a way." He turned back to his desk and snatched up a sheet of parchment. "Memorise this. The red lyrium, it can be used to keep him alive. I have adapted Dagna's research of Samson. It will work!"

"Alexius, red lyrium is blighted. At best it will turn him into a monster, at worse…"

He shook his head, adamant. "No, with the proper application, it _will_ work." He handed her the page, which she took. "Memorise that and give it to me. I will know what to do with it."

"You know I will have to keep to the course of events, as much as I can. I cannot risk Corypheus succeeding due to some slight change. I will still have to defeat you."

He nodded. Yes, of course, he knew that! "And when you have done so and judged me accordingly, I will be in a position to use that research."

She rubbed her forehead. "Very well. I will do as you ask."

He sighed. Something small and delicate now filled him. It had been so very long since he'd felt it. "Thank you, Inquisitor Lavellan."

"I'm not-" her protest died as she began reading the page and he could see her mind taking it in. She was intelligent, he knew that. She'd remember it.

"This could work." She said, voice soft. She looked up at him and there was admiration in her eyes. "This could very well work."

"It must." He said simply.

* * *

They had cleared the centre of the chamber. She stood on one side and he the other. Her remaining hand clenched and released rhythmically. He held a blade gripped fast in his.

"Are you sure this is the only way?" She asked again.

He nodded. "Yes. This will require power I do not possess. I will need the strength of my blood." He smiled at her and it was not unkind. "And besides, what need have I of my life in this time?"

She was unhappy but had no choice but to accept it.

"Now, open a rift and let us begin." He said.

He could feel her gather her strength, pull on her connection to the Fade. It was strong. She'd been using the raw power of the Fade for years.

Sickly green light bathed the chamber as a small rift formed. He watched it grow, felt the Veil tear around it.

He brought his blade up and used it to slice the skin of his opposite arm. He dug the metal in deep, opening his vein to the air.

His blood poured from the wound and he gathered it — gathered the raw magical power it unleashed — even as he felt himself weaken.

He twisted it, pushed it through the amulet in the complex magic he had spent the last week crafting. He aimed it at her rift and watched it change. The light faded as darkness began to swirl in its depths.

She walked closer, stared at it hungrily.

"No!" A voice shouted.

Someone was coming up the stairs. They'd been caught.

Lavellan tensed and stepped to the rift, a hair's breadth from entering.

A woman in leather and chain, bow drawn, flew up the last few stairs. She stood, panting, while more men and woman arrived behind her.

She swung her bow at Alexius but when she saw the wound on his arm, her face hardened and she aimed it at Lavellan.

"I cannot let you do this," Leliana said.

"I must, there is no other way." The once-Inquisitor said.

"We will stop him, Lyran, we will find another way. Please, come away from that and return with me to Skyhold." Leliana's voice was softer now, pleading.

Lyran Lyara Lavellan shook her head. There were tears in her eyes as she gazed at her friend and former Spymaster.

"No, Leliana, you don't understand. I don't want to stop him, I want to _save_ him."

Leliana's eyes widened and then narrowed. "Then you give me no choice. I am sorry my friend."

Alexius' vision had darkened. He could barely see the two woman. But there was enough left for him to help.

As Leliana's arrow released from the bow, he flung his last scrap of power out and pushed.

Lyran was flung backwards into the rift.

He smiled. Now there was a chance for his son.

"Felix..." he whispered as the darkness claimed him.


	2. Chapter 2

9:41 Dragon

Power twisted and burned her. Flames danced along her nerves and electricity filled her blood, boiling it in her veins. The darkness ate at her.

She screamed as she felt herself fall into the green-shot dark.

Impact.

There was hard stone beneath her.

She groaned and felt rough hands grab her arms and haul her up.

 _Arms, I have two arms…_ It was her last thought before blackness claimed her.

* * *

Her mouth tasted of nug shit and decay. She tried to spit but found she had no moisture on her tongue. She groaned and tried to lever herself upright. She placed both hands beneath her and pushed.

Chains clinked and she felt the weight of them around her ankles. She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to clear them. Then she looked down, unable to tear her gaze from the sight of two hands beneath her.

She felt tears begin to spill down her cheeks. Her hand was back. It meant the spell had worked!

She tried to sit up but nearly fell over as a wave of dizziness swept through her. Sudden pain flared from her hand. All too familiar.

She cried out and clutched it to her chest. She knew it wouldn't help but she couldn't stop herself. Once the pain had subsided she looked down at the mark, the Anchor. Green light flared along the scar in her hand, bathing her surroundings.

She clenched her fist around it and looked up.

She was in a cell. A familiar cell. She grew dizzy again and clutched at her head. She took deep, calming breaths and it subsided. She knew where she was, what was happening around her. The spell had worked, she was exactly when she needed to be.

Metal grated as a bolt slid free. The cell door opened.

Guards filed in, swords drawn and pointed at her. One stepped close to her and grabbed her hands, binding them in manacles. They were too tight and her treatment was not kind. She said nothing, however. She knew what they thought of her.

The Anchor flared, sending spikes of pain shooting up her arm. She gasped and stared at it, willing it to subside. She heard the strike of heels, an angry gait. She looked up.

The Seeker entered the cell, followed closely by Leliana.

Lyran couldn't help a wince at the sight of Sister Nightingale. Their last meeting had not been a happy one… only, that was still to come. Had not happened yet but was in the past for her. It may never happen — wouldn't — if she succeeded.

This was going to be very difficult.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," Cassandra said. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you."

The anger and pain in her voice made Lyran wince again. She hoped those watching would take it for pain. Like the ghosts of memories, she let the words pour out of her.

"What do you mean, everyone is dead?" She said.

* * *

They were outside. Cassandra had brought her, as she had done before, to show her the Breach. She'd allowed herself to fall into the moment, to remember what she had said — would say. It was strange and fascinating all at once. A part of her felt as though she were experiencing this for the first time, while the rest knew these events intimately, like a favourite story heard often. She tried not to think about it too hard, to just let it flow around her and carry her on.

She had something else to concentrate on.

She sent a wave of fire into the nearest demon, watching as it flailed and died. Cassandra still battled another, so she sent more flames from her staff into the Seeker's foe.

This too was strange.

She was stronger than this — knew it, felt it. She had years of knowledge she had not had before. The first time. She could feel the power of the Fade, ready and waiting for her to claim it. She could send it to shatter the bodies of the demons, could use it to pull them, knock them down. She could even summon flaming boulders to rain down from the sky.

Only, she could not. She couldn't do any of that. If she did, she would tip her hand, display far more power than she should possess.

She was, had been, a Dalish First. Her grasp of magic was limited. She had only been taught what was necessary for protecting her clan.

And so, she used her staff and occasionally sent a blast of stronger flame to strike her foes.

The battle done, she walked to the Seeker's side.

Cassandra was breathing heavily, her face flushed. She bent down to gather a handful of snow and cleaned her sword.

Lyran studied her. She knew Cassandra well, knew the woman she was and would become but she could not show it.

"You have my thanks." The nevarran told her. It was forced. Clearly, anger and suspicion still plagued the Seeker.

Lyran nodded. "I am glad I can help." She said.

"Yes, I think I believe that." Cassandra's gaze was penetrating. She looked across the frozen river at a long flight of worn stone steps. She gestured with her sword, still unsheathed. "There, we will use that."

Lyran's heart began to thud against her ribs as she looked at the steps leading up the mountainside. Her mouth went dry as she remembered what the two of them would find at the top.

He would be there.

She felt gooseflesh cover her and shivered. She wanted to rush forward, leap up the steps to see him. Her feet were rooted to the ice. He wouldn't know her. Had only seen her unconscious up until now. And she knew him. Knew his secrets, the ones he'd finally revealed and the ones she'd guessed at.

It was suddenly very, very difficult to breathe.

 _Vhenan._

"Come, we should hurry. They may need our help." Cassandra said and started up the steps. "We are getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting."

Lyran worked moisture back into her mouth. "Who's fighting?" She asked. Her voice sounded strange, strained.

Cassandra glanced back at her. "You'll soon see. We must help them." The Seeker seemed to note her expression. "Do not worry, I have seen you fight. You will be fine."

Lyran sighed and kept climbing, willing her legs not to give out. Now that she was here, she was terrified.

She'd worked so hard, done so much to make this happen. Her actions would haunt her forever, regardless of whether they would actually happen now. They had happened for her.

What if she did something — said something — and it all went wrong? She clenched her jaw and banished her doubts. She could not afford this weakness. She had so much work to do and she could not tell whether knowing her path would make things easier, or harder.

They neared the top and heard the unmistakable sounds of a battle with demons. Soldiers fought under the green light of an open rift. And there, two others. One short, dressed in red, she knew well. A friend.

The other, casting at a demon, her heart.

She was running, moving across the snow-covered stone and into the battle. She willed her magic to flow, drew on her connection to the Fade. She sent a spread of fire into the demons, burning them.

The one he fought shrieked and turned to face her. She brought her staff up, channelling her magic into a stronger blast and sent it at the shade. The demon screamed, wailing in pain and dissolved into tatters of darkness.

Around her she sensed the battle coming to an end. She heard the familiar scream of a crossbow bolt and the _thunk_ as it hit home. She stared down at the scattered fragments that had been a demon and didn't move. She couldn't move, couldn't look at him.

But she felt a hand grip her wrist, was turned around as her palm was aimed at the rift.

"Quickly, before more come through!" His voice. He was next to her, touching her.

She felt the power of the Anchor flare as a stream of green energy shot from it to the rift. She barely noticed as it closed.

His hand withdrew and she remembered.

"What did you do?" Her words were faint but audible.

Her eyes lifted up, up the rough fabric of his humble robes, past the jawbone slung around his neck. Her gaze devoured his chin, mouth and cheeks and came to rest on his eyes.

He was smiling faintly as he looked at her, pleased.

"I did nothing," she heard him say. "The credit is yours."

His voice filled her with joy, drove razors of pain into her heart.

"You mean this," she said and held up her hand. Her voice was flat, weary. She winced and hoped they would not notice.

She listened to his reply and watched his face and eyes. She knew what she was looking for, knew the lie. She noted the faint twist to his lips, crinkling of skin at the corners of his eyes. She knew.

His name was on her tongue but she bit down, tasting blood. She would wait.

She barely heard the rest of the conversation and then he was speaking to her again, eyes staring into her own.

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation."

"Good to know! Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever!" the dwarf walked over to them and she turned to meet him, a smile tugging at her lips. She listened to his introduction and her smile grew at Cassandra's reaction. It felt like coming home.

"It's good to meet you, Varric."

"You may reconsider that stance, in time." Her heart said.

Varric laughed. "Aww, I'm sure we'll become great friends in the valley, Chuckles."

She turned back to the tall, slim elf, who watched the exchange between Varric and Cassandra. She noted his posture, his body language. He was so careful to appear as nothing more than he presented himself as. There was diffidence in the way he held himself. Such a far cry from the arrogant gait she knew to be his. The stance of a predator. He glanced at her and she flushed when he caught her staring.

The Seeker made a sound of vexation and he spoke.

"My name is Solas if there are to be introductions." He cocked his head. "I'm pleased to see you still live."

Her heart felt like it was imploding.

She looked down at her hand, at the glaring green light of the Anchor. His Anchor.

"You seem to know a _great deal_ about it all." She said, eyes meeting his once more.

He gave her an odd look and she cursed inwardly as she realised that she'd emphasised the words. _Fenedhis_.

"Like you, Solas is an apostate," Cassandra said, rescuing her from her slip.

He frowned and looked at the Seeker. Lyran listened to his reply and felt her own lips twist in a mirthless smile. Regardless of origin, indeed.

She gestured at the Breach with her marked hand. "And what will you do when this is all over?"

Solas shrugged. "One hopes that those in power will remember who helped and who did not." He turned to the Seeker. "Cassandra, you should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen."

Lyran felt her heart twist. Here it was, one of his first meaningful lies.

She closed her eyes and clutched at her chest. She felt dizzy again and remembered the warning from the Well. _Those who would attempt to travel in time will only break themselves upon it. Your mind will not survive._

She felt a strong hand take her arm and steady her. Solas and Cassandra were talking, about the Breach.

She opened her eyes and found Varric near her, looking at her in concern.

"You alright Snowflake?" He asked.

She smiled at the familiar nickname.

He was holding her, making sure she didn't fall. She rested her hand on his in gratitude and he grinned at her.

"Don't all your fans go faint in your presence? Or is that only the women?" She asked him.

His eyes sparkled. "Oh, so you've read my books, huh? I meet fans in the craziest places." He let go of her arm when he realised she was alright. "So, even the Dalish read my books… I'll have to take that into consideration when I write my next one."

"I hate to interrupt but we have to move," Cassandra said archly. "We have to get to the forward camp quickly."

Lyran looked at her and glanced at Solas. He looked coolly back at her.

"I'm sorry, I felt dizzy for a moment." She said.

"We do not have time to spare. I apologise but we must make haste. Are you well enough to continue?" The Seeker asked.

"Yes, I'm fine now. We can proceed." Lyran replied.

They seemed to accept this and turned to leave.

Varric glanced up at her wryly. "Well, Bianca's excited!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

9:44 Dragon

 **Author's Note:** This is a little angsty. Please bear with a very unhappy Lavellan.

* * *

She was empty.

She couldn't feel her body, couldn't feel any of herself _except_ the part that she shouldn't be able to. Her mind drifted through the emptiness, avoiding thoughts, avoiding memories. She wanted nothing more than to disappear into it. To be gone.

As he was.

Colour shattered the void around her. _His back, lit with the warm glow of the sunset as he walks away. The shimmer of the vast eluvian outlining him in silvery light. Green fire claiming her vision as the Anchor tries to devour her alive_.

She lifted her arms, felt both hands rise but only one touch her face. She ground the heel of her palm into one eye, then the other.

She still felt numbed, as though the rest of her were disconnected. She opened her eyes.

Wan pre-dawn light bathed her chamber.

She knew that the fortress around her would be stirring. People rising, going about their business. Cooks would be in the kitchen, baking the morning's bread. Other servants and staff would be rising from their beds, ready to face the day.

She felt like weeping but tears were a luxury she no longer felt capable of.

Skyhold was slowly but surely emptying. She'd disbanded the Inquisition and many of the soldiery had already left, pay in hand. They would be returning to their homes and families.

Oh the stories they would have to tell! Of how the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, had saved the world and thwarted a Qunari plot to destroy the south. The pride in their voices as they described her, the wonder in the eyes of their spouses and children.

She laughed. Bitter, so very bitter.

She'd lied to them all. Told them everything was fine now, there was no more danger.

What would they say if they knew the truth? Would they look to her —as they always did — to save them all? She could not. Not this time.

She could not save the world from _him_.

She felt the pain of it, a wound that was growing septic with deceit. How much time did the world have? What would actually happen when the Veil came down? Did he even know?

Burn, he'd said. Her world would burn. A figure of speech? Or was he being literal?

What did it matter in the end? She'd seen the destruction of the _Vir Dirthara_. How much more violent would it be for the world to suddenly be flooded with a part of itself it had long been separated from?

She could imagine that the creation of the Veil had left half of the world empty. Vast spaces and regions where the Fade had been. In the thousands of years since it had gone, those spaces had been filled.

Would the Fade come crashing back only to find there was no longer any room for it? How much sheer destruction would that cause?

She pictured a dam breaking, water pouring over homes, cities, lives. Washing everything away in the fury of its passage.

She could be entirely wrong. She had no real idea what it would mean for the world, only that he had been certain that destruction was inevitable.

And she had told no one.

She could not bring herself to. The words had filled her mouth as she'd looked at her friends but she'd swallowed them down like a mouthful of bile.

She couldn't tell them what was to happen. Not when she saw no way to prevent it.

Solas would kill them all.

It was fitting that only _she_ suffer this knowledge. Her punishment for being wholly unable to change his mind, to sway him at all.

' _I will never forget you.'_

How comforting.

Anger drove her to rise, to fling back her blankets. She stood, bare feet cool in the plush carpets. She began to pace.

How dare he decide, on his own, that she was not to accompany him! How dare he choose _for_ her. She had offered to help!

No, he did not want her to see what he became, what he would have to do. His journey would be filled with death.

Had hers been any different?

She could not recall how many she had killed along the way. How many Red Templars, bandits, Venatori, rebel mages, sell-swords… so many lives. She'd taken them all.

Yes, the blood that would cover his hands would belong to the whole world. Her world.

She didn't care. It was the cold, ugly truth. She'd lost the part of herself that cared what would happen to this world.

It had not been something that had happened all at once.

It had begun, years ago, with the death of her clan.

Her entire clan, along with every elf in the city of Wycome, slaughtered. By human nobles offering only the barest excuse for their actions.

She had been busy. Had _things_ to do. People to kill. Rifts to close. It had been easy to throw herself into her duties as the Inquisitor, to push the knowledge away.

And then she'd won. Corypheus was dead, the Breach closed.

Solas had left her.

And there it was. The fact that some of the people she'd helped save were the ones who'd murdered her clan. She'd spent months trying to gain some sort of justice. Josephine had sent missives, Cullen had sent soldiers and then Leliana had offered to take care of the matter quietly.

She'd refused.

Lyran had felt that surely what she'd done for the world would count, would aid her in this.

She'd been wrong.

Nothing had really mattered, in the long run. She was the Inquisitor, not a Dalish elf. The world saw only the titles and not the person behind them.

No one really understood.

Even her closest friends had tried to reassure her that her background would not interfere with her work, that the world would see the Herald of Andraste and know that the Maker worked in mysterious ways. That even a Dalish elf could become a saviour.

Why couldn't they see how much that had hurt her?

Every reassurance that her upbringing — her pointed ears — would not matter now. She had saved the world. And as the Inquisitor, her responsibility was to the world, to all of Thedas.

Never mind the fact that when they said that, they _meant_ the humans.

When she could do nothing about the nobles of Wycome, she'd accepted it. What choice did she have? She wasn't going to order them all assassinated. That would only harm the Inquisition in the end. One more sacrifice, her justice for the good of all.

Then she'd tried again. Tried using her position and the human politics, to better the lives of the elves. She'd tried for land. A missive had been sent to the Empress requesting that she officially grant the Inquisitor land in order to create a place for the elves.

She'd not asked for the Dales. No. That would have been too much according to Josephine. She'd been told that perhaps something could be arranged.

Months had passed.

Josephine had told her it was likely that the nobles of the Orlesian court had been unhappy with her request. Celine was unlikely to grant it, considering her precarious position.

So, that would not work either.

The next attempt was to try and better the lives of elves as it stood. To improve the state of the Alienages. To create more opportunities for trade with the Dalish, to change how the world perceived them.

After all, she was herself a Dalish elf. Surely the rest of the world could now see that her people were not savages? Appropriate noises were made. A few months of improved conditions. Talk about opening new trade routes.

Again, she was prevented by the human nobles of both Ferelden and Orlais.

They had not liked the idea of their servants living better lives at their expense, had not liked the fact that the elves were being given more recognition as a people unto themselves.

Dalish elves died. Clans died. Killed by brigands who supposedly were taking advantage of the new trade routes. Leliana had told her that these 'brigands' were in the employ of the nobles whose land was being used.

Brutality became more common in the Alienages. Elves were raped and murdered and their attackers never caught.

They began to blame _her_. Began to claim she'd sold out, become more _shemlen_ than elf, that she was trying to destroy her own people.

She'd stopped trying and things had gone back to the way they had been.

And during all of this she had been busy. She'd organised relief efforts for the towns and villages most affected by Corypheus and the Breach. Had journeyed all over Orlais and Ferelden using the Anchor to close the remaining rifts.

She had seen people in need and had acted to save them and there was nothing she could do for her _own_ people. To save _them._

She had been more than ready to disband the Inquisition by the time the Exalted Council came. It had been on her mind for months.

In the end she was nothing more than a creature of the human world. A figurehead. A name and a title for them to use as they wished.

And so, after all of it, everything she had been through, she no longer cared.

This world was not the place she had thought it to be. She sneered when she recalled her naiveté, her foolish hope that she'd be able to bring change.

A sick joke.

And Solas had thought she could return. She could live in _comfort_ while she waited for the world to end. He had not wanted her to see him change. Or perhaps for her to see what he had been, all along.

He had not seen the change in her.

The Inquisition was over. There was nothing left for her. Nothing that she needed to do.

They had been given time to complete the process. It was part of the charter. The Inquisition had one year to completely disband, but it was all administration at this point. She was still officially the Inquisitor until that last day. Her military might had been significantly reduced, however, and she no longer had any actual power.

It didn't matter. It was all politics now. Decisions she no longer cared to make. She left most of it up to her three remaining advisors.

Lyran sighed.

She washed and dressed. It was awkward. She was not at all used to her missing arm yet. She doubted she would ever be. She would allow no one to help her though. She had to learn to do this herself, as much as she could.

She cheated a bit.

Magic helped her with almost everything she needed to do. Minor spells to move things that her hand would have. To help her wash herself. Do up her buckles, even pull on her shirt and breeches.

A one-armed mage was less of a liability than another person would have been. Not as helpless. She left her room without waiting for the servants to bring her breakfast. She ate little these days.

Skyhold was no longer the living breathing thing it had been. There were no more visiting nobles, no refugees, no soldiers training and working in the courtyard. There were still enough people to keep it functioning however. There was even still enough money to pay them all.

She found herself wandering, drifting slowly about the passages and halls. She stood for a time in the grand hall, staring at the empty throne. She turned and looked down towards the entrance.

She was drawn down, her steps measured yet eager, to the door on her left of the entrance. She passed through it, moving down the dim corridor into the empty rotunda beyond.

Lyran stood in the centre, looking down at the desk with it's scattered papers and books. A shard still weighed down loose sheets of parchment. A cup sat, the long-dried residue of tea leaves staining its bottom.

She'd ordered that the room not be touched. It had stayed as it was for over two years. People had tried to argue with her, to get her to change it, use it for something else. It would be less painful, they'd said.

She'd not allowed it.

This room was all she had left of him.

Servants kept it clean for her, tended to it as though its former occupant would return any day now.

Scaffolding still sat next to the unfinished fresco. She looked up at the bare plaster with the faint lines scored across it, the design he'd meant to finish but hadn't.

She sat down on the couch, drew her feet up and hugged her knees with her remaining arm.

Leliana found her there a few hours later.

The Spymaster walked silently into the room. She sat down on the couch next to Lyran and said nothing for a time.

"I have some information you may find interesting," she said finally.

The former Inquisitor turned her head and looked at the woman in silence.

Leliana took that as permission to proceed. "I have reports of elves disappearing. No one quite seems to know how or why, or even where they are going."

Lyran closed her eyes.

This was not unexpected. She knew what was drawing them. The whispers of change, of rebellion that must be flowing throughout Thedas.

"You are not surprised." Leliana said.

"No." Lyran replied.

"Do you know where they are going?"

Lyran shook her head. "No. But I know why. It's Fen'Harel." Her mouth twisted on the name, on the knowledge she had not shared. Fen'Harel… Solas.

"That would be the person the Viddasala claimed Solas was working for, yes?" Leliana asked.

She nodded.

"I see." Sister Nightingale's voice was soft. She was troubled. "Did he tell you anything about this… Fen'Harel?"

"No." Lyran said.

A lie. One she could almost feel Leliana turn over in her head, trying to determine its veracity.

"There is something you are holding back," Leliana said after a moment. "Something you are not willing to share." The Spymaster turned to face Lyran and looked into her eyes. "I have not pried because of Solas. Because of what has happened to you. But I must know, especially if it's something that concerns us all."

What could she say? Leliana would want something. She would not settle for another evasion now.

"He's… part of something. I think it's a… a movement." Lyran said.

"A movement." Leliana repeated. "To what end? What is his goal?"

"I don't know. Maybe... to do something for the elves? To make their lives better?" Lyran sighed and buried her eyes in her palm. "He wouldn't tell me what his plans were. I don't know."

Not completely a lie. But the part that _was_ was damning.

She felt Sister Nightingale's hand on her arm, felt her squeeze gently in reassurance.

"I will find out more," Leliana said and rose. "I promise you, I will uncover the truth of this."

Lyran opened her eyes and gazed up at Leliana, some of her horror no doubt visible in her eyes.

Leliana mistook the emotion, luckily.

"I'll find Solas," The Spymaster said. "I promise you, you will see him again Lyran."

The elf could only stare back at her, watch in mute horror as the Spymaster left her.

It was entirely possible that Leliana could succeed. Few underestimated Sister Nightingale without regret.

What then? What would she do if the next time Leliana came to her, she told her that she knew Solas planned to destroy the world? She could see it happening, see the faces of her advisors as they looked to her to lead them against this new threat. Oh yes, they would pity her. Give her words of comfort. But they would still expect her to act. To do something to stop him.

And she _could not_. She could not act against him. Not even now.

It was time for her to leave.

If elves were disappearing, then she would join them. He had not wanted her to follow him, to be with him. But that was _her_ choice to make. Not his.

She would disappear into the multitude of elves in search of Fen'harel.

Lyran would not go as herself. As the Inquisitor.

She would paint _vallaslin_ on her skin. Dye her hair. Present herself as just one more Dalish elf in search of a legend.

Perhaps she _would_ see him again. And when she did, she would have much to say. And this time, she would make sure he listened.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

9:41 Dragon

 **Author's Notes:** Self-edited, so please forgive any obvious mistakes. Also, dates are important.

* * *

She sat up. She was in a bed — a familiar bed, as all things were now familiar to her. She was wearing a loose shift and leggings, clothing suitable for a bedridden patient.

She sighed and let herself flop back onto the warmth of the blankets.

She rubbed her face and eyes and then took a moment to stare at her marked hand. Months with a missing arm. Months of painful clumsiness, of trying to adjust to the change in her balance. Of trying to learn to do things one-handed.

And now it had all been reversed.

She flexed the hand, watched the gleam of the energy caught in her palm.

 _His_ magic.

She rolled over and curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. She knew what would happen next.

She would have to be careful. She _had_ to make sure that events happened this time the same way they had before. She could not afford to make a mistake. There was no telling what minor change could affect the outcome. No matter what, she had to defeat Corypheus and close the Breach. She knew what _else_ she wanted to change but that would come later. Much later. And only if she succeeded in something far harder first.

The door opened and she sat up.

A young elf walked into the room and startled so much at seeing Lyran conscious she dropped the box she was carrying.

"Oh, I didn't know you were awake, I swear!" The elven serving woman said.

Lyran sighed, "It's alright, I don't mind. Could you possibly go and tell someone I'm awake, please?"

She knew this wasn't exactly how it should have gone but she was impatient.

"Oh, yes! Lady Cassandra said she wanted to know when you awaken. She said 'at once!'"

"Then by all means, please tell her," Lyran smiled tiredly at the other elf.

The young woman backed away from her and fled.

Lyran knew the cause of her nervousness, she needed no explanation _this_ time.

She looked around and spotted her clothing neatly folded on a chest. She began to dress herself, feeling as though she were rediscovering clothing she'd not worn in years. The luxury of being able to do this simple task nearly made her cry, when so little could anymore. She needed no magic to help her now. She had two good arms.

When she was done she pulled on her boots and stood. She saw her staff propped in the corner but decided to leave it where it was. She wouldn't need it in Haven, for now.

Her gaze passed across a mirror and the sight of her reflection froze her. She found herself moving closer, staring at her own face, at the marks upon it.

Her _vallaslin_.

Her hand rose and she traced a finger along the delicate lines, following the course of Mythal's _vallaslin_ across her temples and forehead. She'd forgotten what she looked like with the blood writing. It felt strange now, wrong. It wasn't just that she knew what it meant, it was that she'd grown to accept her face bare of it.

She sighed. She'd have to become accustomed to her own face. _Again_.

Her mind turned back to the young elf and she remembered her past confusion and disbelief at the way the servant had treated her. At the way all of Haven's residents had treated her. She struggled to relive those feelings, to pull them up and wear them on her face, like her _vallaslin_. She'd been the Inquisitor for years, it was hard. She'd grown so accustomed to being treated as a saviour.

She left the cabin to a crowd of waiting, eager faces.

Many pointed at her and whispered to each other. She heard the word 'Herald' a few times and sighed. She did her best to ignore them all, as though she had no idea that they were there for her.

She headed up, towards the Chantry.

It was time to form the Inquisition.

* * *

Varric was alone when she approached him several hours later. He had perched himself on an old wooden chair next to the fire and was busily taking notes in a worn book.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?" She asked.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Not at all. Just trying to get it all down while it's still fresh." He tapped his head.

She nodded. "You're going to put this in a book?"

He stood and looked up at the sky in the direction of the Breach. "Maybe, maybe not. Who's going to believe it even if I do? Holes in the sky? This is some very weird shit."

She smiled. Past or present, Varric was always the same. "Sounds like a good title. 'Some Weird Shit' by Varric Tethras. A best seller for certain."

He laughed, that deep, rich laugh of his that withheld nothing. She'd missed that laugh.

"You think so, huh? Let me tell you Snowflake, I doubt that anyone in _Haven_ would believe it happened, and they're smack in the middle of it all."

"Snowflake?" She asked, although she knew.

He pointed at her head. "The hair? You know, like snow?"

She moved closer to the fire, enjoying the heat. "I thought your nicknames were meant to be ironic. You called Solas 'Chuckles.'"

"I try not to overthink this shit too much," Varric said. "Even the best idea can be ruined by over thinking."

She laughed. "Yes, I imagine so."

"Something you wanted to talk about, Snow?" He asked.

His expression was open and friendly but there was a hint of worry there as well. She knew he had plenty to worry about, the red lyrium being chief amongst them for him.

"So far, my day has been phenomenally strange. I woke up from a sickbed only to form an Inquisition with people who held me prisoner not long ago. Against the express wishes of the Chantry I might add. And to top it off, people keep calling me 'Herald' and I'm not even Andrastian." She grinned at him. "So, you could say I was just hoping for some light conversation for a change of pace."

"Sounds more like you need a distraction, or a drink," He said.

She sighed and tried not to think of what she _really_ needed a distraction from.

Solas.

Just up past the few wooden houses on the hill, near the apothecary. Just... there. So close. It would be so easy to go to him, to talk to him. Could she trust herself alone with him? Was it safe?

"I'm not sure about a drink. My head isn't wonderful just yet, because of this." She wiggled the fingers of her left hand at Varric.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Varric sighed. "Okay then, what do you want to talk about?"

She asked him about his life, his writing, anything he was willing to speak of. She kept clear of the dangerous topics. Red lyrium. Whether he actually believed she was the Herald. Kirkwall.

They passed a relaxing hour chatting around his fire.

Finally she stood. She felt a strong desire to hug him but stopped herself. She knew they weren't close enough for that yet. He barely knew her. Oh damn, this was _hard._

"I saw your eyes drift up a few times, towards the hill." Varric pointed in the direction of the apothecary. "And I couldn't _help_ but notice how you reacted when you first saw him."

She flushed, "Oh, I'm sorry Varric, I didn't meant to be rude."

"Not what I was getting at. Not completely," He assured her and winked. "It's just... be careful Snow. I get the feeling that a relationship with Chuckles could be, well... complicated. Want my advice? Try Curly. He may not have pointed ears but he's not bad in the looks department."

"Curly?" She asked, smiling.

"Commander Cullen." Varric clarified.

"Ah, um... thanks Varric." She looked towards where Solas would likely be. "I wish it were that simple."

"One of _those_ , huh? And here I thought that only happened in my books."

"I wish it did." She smiled sadly. "Thanks for your time, I'll see you later?"

"Count on it Snowflake. I'll be here when you need me."

* * *

Lyran walked around the barracks and up the stairs.

 _I know._ The words were in her mouth. _I know who you are, what you did._ She swallowed them down. No. She could not confront him, could not risk it.

She had to do this slowly. Carefully.

Lyran needed him to fall in love with her, as he had done before. She could not risk doing it differently. He was a skittish wild animal and she had to let him come to her. She laughed and heard the edge of bitterness and hysteria in her own voice.

She had tried to distract herself by spending time with the others. Lyran had introduced herself to most of Haven's more notable residents and spent time talking with each one. It was important and was also something she had done before. She found herself anticipating their responses, phrasing her own in a way that would suit them best. She stopped once she realised what she was doing.

It was wrong. She felt as though she were lying to them.

The day passed with little incident. And then it was time. His presence burned like a beacon to her. She could resist no longer.

It was growing dark, the air brittle with cold. She rubbed her arms and looked at his small cabin. Was she prepared for this? Could she do it? She _had_ to.

Lyran raised her hand, hesitated, then knocked.

There was a moment of silence and then the door opened. He looked at her, his grey-blue eyes slightly wary but full of haughty self assurance.

 _Vhenan._

The word was so close to being spoken she could taste it.

"Good evening, Solas." She said instead and hoped her voice was steady enough.

"Ah, the Chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero sent to save us all."

She couldn't help it, she laughed. "That sounds dashing!" She said when she'd caught her breath. "Am I riding in on a shining steed?" She asked.

His expression was neutral at first but he smiled faintly at her question.

"I would have suggested a griffon but sadly, they're extinct."

He stepped away from the door and gestured for her to come inside. She moved past him, felt the warmth of his body inches away from her own and shivered. He closed the door behind them and moved to the fire, which he proceeded to build up. Once he'd added enough dry wood he rose and turned back to her.

"Joke as you will but posturing is necessary." He said.

His words killed her mirth entirely. She looked back at him, feeling the weight of his stare. She knew what he meant, what he was thinking about. His own posturing, the title he'd had to live up to.

The warm glow of the firelight flickered along his profile, casting his face in partial shadow. There was a distance between them she could not cross yet. He was like something out of her dreams, darkness and light intermingled in dangerous ways.

"You have experience in this matter?" She asked.

She moved closer to the fire and held out her hands to collect the heat. He watched her for a moment and then stepped slightly further away.

His reply was expected but she loved hearing it. She followed the cadence of his voice, the lilt of his accent. She sighed. It was good, so very good, just to be near him, to listen to him.

She thought about his words — about what she had said before — and about what she could say _now_.

"Do you mean that you travel to these ruins and battlefields physically, or just in the Fade? Or is it both?" She asked.

She watched him and let some of her eagerness and interest show on her face, in her posture.

He regarded her for a moment, then smiled. "Yes, you are correct. Very astute. It is both. Every building strong enough to withstand the rigours of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen."

Her breath caught. She thought of his slumber, the uthenera, of the fact that he'd only woken from it a year ago, for him. She knew that his travels had been _only_ through the Fade, for the most part. Oh, he'd been to some places physically, dreamt there, but most of his knowledge came from spending thousands of years wandering the Fade. It was almost too much, too hard not to say something. She swallowed.

"I've never heard of someone going _that_ deep into the Fade before. That's extraordinary."

His eyes came alight as he replied, describing the wonders he'd seen. She knew that look, knew that he could spend hours talking about the Fade. She could spend hours listening.

"I would be fascinated to learn," she said. "If you were willing to teach, that is…?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She'd not said that before. No, the Fade had been interesting yes but her lessons on the dangers of demons and possession had been fresh in her mind.

His eyes widened slightly. "That is… not something I had expected a Dalish elf to ask."

She flushed and looked into the fire. "I am sorry if it was inappropriate."

"No, not at all. I had just not expected one of your people to be so open-minded." He said.

What was she doing? She knew what he wanted to hear, what would please him most. It was almost too easy. Was this wise? Should she do this? She didn't _want_ to manipulate him but it was almost impossible for her not to do so. She knew him, knew everyone in Haven far better than they could possibly know her.

"The Dalish can be… reluctant to learn new things." She said and almost cringed at herself.

"Yes, so I have found." He was silent for a moment, watching her. "But you are not." It was not a question.

"No." She turned to look at him directly, stared up into eyes the colour of storm clouds before the rain. "I have always enjoyed learning new things, new magic, new ways of looking at the world."

His lips quirked and he looked away. She hoped desperately she had not pushed it too far.

He looked back. "I will stay then, at least until the Breach is closed, if not to teach you of the Fade."

She breathed out. "Was that in doubt?" She asked, knowing it wasn't.

His expression soured. "I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me."

She glanced down at her hand and lifted it, palm upward, between them. "I don't think it's particularly divine." She said.

"Then it is lucky for you that in this regard, others do not share your opinion." He shook his head. "The decision is in the hands of _people_ like the Seeker. Cassandra has been accommodating so far, but you understand my caution."

Oh, the bitterness that must be churning within him! For one such as _he_ , to be forced to worry about a human organisation and how it could affect his life, his freedom.

"You came here to help us Solas, I won't let anyone use that against you." The strength of her emotions slipped through. Her tone, her voice, were far more passionate than they should have been. _Fenedhis!_ This was _hard!_

He looked at her in mild surprise, then after considering her, asked, "How would you stop them?"

"However I had to."

He was silent for a moment, then something shifted in his expression. It was so subtle as to be nonexistent. But she saw.

"Thank you." He said, and his words and tone were sincere.

Lyran felt giddy. She was doing it!

She smiled and couldn't help adding. "I would almost like to see them try to put you in a circle. I can't help but feel that you'd give them far more than they'd bargained for."

"Is that so? And how do you imagine I would accomplish that?" He asked.

She laughed and gestured to him with her marked hand. "Oh, you'd be like a wolf among sheep, running circles around them and slipping away into the night before they even knew you were there!"

As the words left her lips she turned to ice inside. Why had she said that? What was wrong with her? It was him, too close, too familiar. She needed to be careful, watch her tongue. What was she _doing?!_

But he smiled at her words. A soft, knowing smile. And she understood, saw the situation how he would see it. He was Fen'Harel but none living knew that, at least, not yet. Not that she knew of. There was no way, in any reality he could conceive of, that she could know this. And so, he heard her words and judged them from whence they came, from a young Dalish mage who thought she was addressing an elven apostate and nothing more.

He could enjoy the irony, privately, without her knowing just what she had said and to whom.

But she knew and the knowledge was like a shard of glass in her heart. Too precious and beautiful to let go, even though it cut her.

"Am I a wolf then?" He asked. "Is that how you see me?"

She turned away from him, hoping her flushed skin would pass for embarrassment. "I am sorry Solas, that was too forward. I apologise if I have given any offense."

She walked to the door, ready to leave. This had been a mistake, she was clearly not prepared to face him alone yet.

"Lavellan, I am not offended." He said.

Even that much of her name from him brought her up short, had her breath fast and shallow.

"I am glad," she said faintly. She pulled open the door and faced him again. He was standing with his back to the fire, watching her. She could not make out his expression as his face was eclipsed by the light. "Please forgive me, I find I am still tired."

"Of course, perhaps I shall see you tomorrow?" He asked, voice once again neutral and polite.

"Yes, perhaps. Good night."

She left, fleeing into the frigid night air before she said, or did, something she would regret.


End file.
